Nothing is getting done. I actually believe I suffered a fairly serious nervous breakdown a month or two ago, and just as wonderfully, I suspect I’m still broken. Good times.
I want to say more. I really do. But to be perfectly honest, I’d rather climb into an RV and drive the fuck away until I can’t see you and you can’t see me and all I can do is relearn to write and create again, or die.
No, I am not being dramatic. Shut your fucking mouth.
Sorry. I should go back to being quiet. Best Wishes.
The Artist Formerly Known As Lee.